All Jacked Up (6 page)

“I never said we were pals.”

“You’re acting like it.”

“Oh. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”

“You didn’t . . . I don’t . . .” He scrubbed his hands over his face, wondering why he’d thought it would help him to reason with her. “This isn’t a game. It’s exciting, gets your blood pumping and your adrenaline racing, but these guys are really trying to kill us.”

“I get that.”

“I hope so.” He stopped walking and looked at her, keeping his voice down but making sure she heard him loud and clear. “This can only end one of two ways. The contract is satisfied or you go into hiding. Either way you’re never coming back here. The sooner you accept that and start listening to me, the better your chances of getting out of this alive. Not to mention mine.”

“You’re free to take off any time you want,” she said, her voice low and furious.

Which, he admitted, had been his goal all along, to get her mad enough to stop being all giggly and friendly. At the very least it was a side benefit to making her face the realities of her predicament. “Turn on that Memorex brain of yours and replay the conversation we had earlier today,” he said. “Until we figure out what you know, we’re—”

“—a team. I know.”

“And I’m the captain. Don’t forget that again.”

“Unfortunately I can’t.”

“Y’know,” Jack said, a thought occurring to him that would’ve fallen somewhere under the heading of silver lining if he’d believed in that kind of optimistic crap. “It might just come in handy, that freaky memory of yours. Unlike with most women, I won’t have to have the same argument over and over with you.”

“Of course,” she said, stopping at a sporty little Focus and unlocking the door. “I can throw your words back in your face and there won’t be any way for you to refute them, either.”

He snorted, taking the keys from her hand and cramming himself into the driver’s seat. It took a couple of tries before he managed it, Aubrey watching him the whole time. A little smirk flirted around the corners of her mouth, but she didn’t say anything. She’d already gotten the last word, verbally and physically.

But he wasn’t through with her yet.

Jack woke up, stiff and disoriented, sore in any number of places and trying to figure out why he was accordioned into a minuscule car surrounded by a sun-dappled forest. It took him a minute to replay the last few hours before he’d dropped off to sleep, starting with the Library of Congress, the traffic chase, and the gunshot wound. The morphine.

He blinked a few times, shook his head, still a little groggy, the aftereffects of being drugged by the ungrateful, scheming . . . librarian whose life he was trying to save.

And that wasn’t all. Because of her he’d been chased through half of Washington, D.C., by a pair of hit men so incompetent it was a disgrace to run away from them, let alone nearly get caught. Not to mention the dogs and getting shot at. Again.

At least Aubrey Sullivan had finally come to heel after his lecture—okay, she’d fallen asleep before they crossed the Potomac into Virginia, but at least she’d stopped mouthing off. He’d headed straight west, taking I-66 to State Road 50 so he could pick up the Blue Ridge Parkway. The Blue Ridge Parkway was a scenic drive lined with a narrow ribbon of state and federal lands and dotted with campgrounds. If worse came to worst and Aubrey’s car was made, they could ditch it and get lost in the wilderness and still be close enough to civilization so they wouldn’t have to eat tree bark or starve to death.

When he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore, he’d pulled off the road where they couldn’t be seen. Even exhausted, it had taken him a long time to find a semi-comfortable position in her cramped little compact car, especially with his right wrist handcuffed to her left one . . .

Shit. Jack didn’t need to look, but he did anyway. He already knew he’d see an empty bracelet hanging from the one still around his wrist. What he hadn’t expected was the small square of paper, bordered in pink flowers, with a hole pierced in it by the handcuff. Written on it in pink ink and a librarian’s precise hand were four simple words. “Ever heard of Houdini?”

At the moment, she was surrounded by dense woodland that looked pretty, soothing, hopeful. Safe. A little mist wafted among the ferns and the rising sun slanted through the trees like a Bible picture. Aubrey took a deep breath of crisp morning air and almost liked nature. And then the mosquitoes found her.

She dug through her backpack. No mosquito repellent, no tiki torches, no lemon dish soap. She’d read somewhere you could kill mosquitoes with lemon dish soap and a white plate. Go figure. Lip balm, deodorant, and duct tape she had. The duct tape did wonders for the tear in her backpack but ran out of usefulness when it came to dealing with annoying pests like mosquitoes. Or Jack Mitchell. She had to resort to slapping and swatting until the sun came up enough to chase the bugs back into the coolness under the trees. She’d already done everything she could do about Jack.

By the time an hour had passed she’d had enough of green things, and crawling things and biting things, not to mention dirt and rocks and trees. And she was wishing there was a big old light switch somewhere so she could turn off the sun. The black jeans and T-shirt that had been the practical choice last night were soaking up the heat and broiling her in her own juices like a Cornish hen. The backpack rubbed her shoulders and bounced against the small of her back. And she had to pee.

She took a reluctant detour into the woods. Who knew when she’d find an actual bathroom, and the only thing worse than Jack catching up to her would be Jack finding her sitting cross-legged on the side of the road because she’d refused to pee in the woods. That would only lower his already subterranean opinion of her survival skills. Not that she cared about his opinion, but he was going to be pretty mad when he woke up and found her gone.

That got a smile out of her. She even picked up the pace a little bit, the thought of Jack’s face when he read her note putting a bit of a spring in her step. Or maybe it was panic at what he’d do when—if—
when
he caught up with her.

By the time she came to the little road that intersected the parkway, she was praying he’d catch up to her, and maybe shoot her in the head and put her out of her misery. And that was before she had to walk another couple of miles to get to civilization. Or the closest she was going to get without an airplane. Or a covered wagon.

Larry’s One Stop was one of the little mom-and-pop gas station /convenience stores that were the first thing you came across when you exited the Blue Ridge Parkway and got off federal or state land. This one was nothing more than a shack squatting on a square of crumbling macadam along with two gas pumps and an overall Bates Motel feel—which explained the name. One stop was all it took to convince Aubrey she’d never want to visit again.

The inevitable junk cars were parked in a small, weedy side lot, and a huge sign sat along the road, the kind of sign that some poor slob had to hang interchangeable letters on to spell out Larry’s advertisements. Either there were a few letters missing or the poor slob had pretty bad spelling, not to mention grammar, since “Canilope” was the weekly special, and “Children with gas eat free.” Or maybe Larry had a sense of humor; he definitely didn’t have a landscaping fetish. The place was inches away from resembling a lost Incan city. Without the tourism value.

She really deserved something better, Aubrey thought, considering she’d been walking for what felt like days. She deserved at least a strip mall with a measly 7-Eleven, not this crummy place all but overrun by nature. She sighed. At least there was plumbing and electricity. And no Jack Mitchell.

She headed down the hill toward Larry’s and hit the pay phone first thing.

“You’re still with Mitchell, right, still on the run?” Tom said almost before she got the “hello” out of her mouth.

“Yes.”
No
. Aubrey had promised Tom she’d call him so he wouldn’t worry; she was lying to him for the same reason. If she had her way she’d never be with Jack Mitchell again. “I think we’re headed south—”

“No, don’t tell me. It’s a well-known fact that you and I are . . . friends. My phone might be tapped by now.”

Aubrey looked at the cracked black plastic receiver of the pay phone, rolling her eyes and feeling sorry for anybody who had to listen in on Tom’s phone conversations without a case of NoDoz on hand. “You really think so?”

“I think Corona can do just about whatever he wants.”

“Maybe you should go away for a while, Tom, just in case.”

“I’m safe as long as I don’t know anything.”

“I don’t know anything and I’m not safe.”

“Good point,” Tom said, “but I still need to ask the congressman if he can find anything out about this guy, Mitchell.”

Aubrey could have saved him that conversation, but most of what she knew about Jack wasn’t really relevant. Unless you were stuck with the chauvinistic, pigheaded, missing link of a man who couldn’t wait ten seconds to see if there was another option besides shooting, blowing up, or generally bulldozing his way through his problems. Anybody who spent any time with Jack knew he needed help, but when she tried to help out, was he thankful? No, he got mad and told her off. He was obnoxious, mean, and egotistical—she looked down the road, her lip curling—not to mention persistent.

Jack pulled up in her car, parking just out of sight of the convenience store, not all that difficult, considering the rampant greenery. Aubrey didn’t try to hide. What was the point? She wasn’t about to go pioneer, and anyway he’d just find her and drag her back. There’d be better chances to escape him down the road. As long as the road took them someplace populated.

“Aubrey, did you hear me?”

“Sure, Tom,” she said, never taking her eyes off Jack. “See if the congressman can find out anything about Jack, like where he works, or who he works for.” Or if his name was even Jack Mitchell. “I have to go.” A suspicious guy like Jack would try to convince her Tom might be working with Pablo Corona, which was ludicrous. “I’ll call you next time I can.” She disconnected, dialing the first number that came to mind just as Jack set eyes on her.

He stalked over, reaching for the phone. Aubrey twisted aside, covering the receiver. “It’s work,” she said, straightening as her boss came on the line. “Hi, Nancy, it’s Aubrey. I know, I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier, but . . . No, I don’t need counseling, just some time off. I thought I’d take my vacation . . . Yes, the whole three weeks.” She looked over at Jack and knew he was wondering what kind of a loser had three weeks of vacation time saved up. A loser who was in love with her books, that’s what kind. But it wasn’t that. Really. Absolutely. Not the books that took her into work each morning, rain or shine, sickness or health. She just didn’t need vacations like normal people.

Because she escaped through books. Okay, so I’m a geek, so what, she thought, scowling at Jack because he was probably thinking the same thing. “I’ll be fine, Nancy, really. I’m taking it as a wake-up call, you know? Stopping to smell the roses.”

“Going for the gusto,” Jack offered, “living the high life.”

Trust Jack to come up with beer-commercial platitudes. “No, it’s just some guy waiting for the phone—”

Jack took the receiver out of her hands and said, “Gotta go,” bouncing on the balls of his feet. Antsy.

Aubrey grabbed it. “Nancy—No, it’s not like that. Oh shoot, she hung up, and now she thinks I’m taking time off to shack up with the first guy I came across because I’ve just had a near-death experience.”

Jack stepped in close. “Until this is over, think of us as man and wife.”

“Only if this is a dysfunctional marriage.”

“Is there any other kind?”

“Not if you’re involved.” Aubrey brushed him aside, frustrated and irritated and completely sick of him and his little idiosyncracies—Yeah, she could see him as her husband. He kept annoying the heck out of her, like he had some sort of radar . . . “How did you know which way I went?”

“The squirrels looked pissed off in this direction.”

She stopped and stared. “You made a joke!”

He raised one eyebrow and flattened his mouth, managing to refute her observation and look irritated all at the same time. A multitasker. “I don’t need to plant a tracking device on you,” he said. “All I have to do is think of the least sensible thing and I know that’s what you did.”

“Whew.” She fanned herself. “You had me worried for a second there. Glad you’re back to the charming, one-track guy I’ve come to know and tolerate.”

“You walked right down the road, just waiting for someone to come along and shoot you in the head,” Jack said, his expression settling back into the one she was used to. Feeling put upon, making his point for the umpteenth time.

Well, she’d heard him loud and clear, same as all the other times, only she was too busy fighting off the urge to hide to show it. “How would they know where to find me?”

“I don’t know,” Jack said, “maybe the phone call you just made?”

“I didn’t tell anyone where I am.”

“Ever heard of tracing a call?”

“Do you really think they expected me to call in sick this morning?”

“So far you’ve done everything predictable, so yeah, I think they’d be prepared for you to call in sick.”

“So I don’t lose my job. I love that job. I know you think books are a waste of time and anyone who reads them is a loser and a couch potato—”

“Fine,” Jack said, which surprised her. “What? You don’t think I understand not wanting to lose your job? I’m doing this so I can get my job back.”

She didn’t need to be reminded of that. All she was to Jack was vindication, and once he got it he’d probably toss her to Corona without a backward glance. “I’m going into the bathroom.”

“You didn’t do that first thing when you got here?”

“I was anxious to call work so I didn’t take the time to clean up,” she said, because she wasn’t about to tell him she’d gone in the forest and now she was all itchy, probably covered with poison ivy or maybe infested with a lyme-disease tick. Like she needed another parasite. “Then you came along and sidetracked me.”

He looked her over, from the shoes up. Her hands followed the path of his eyes, brushing at the drops of dried mud on her jeans, smoothing wrinkles out of her T-shirt, fiddling with hair she could tell was kinking from the humidity.

She eyed his almost smile, her hands going to her hips. “Some of us ran through puddles last night.”

“Some of us make bad choices,” he said. “Try to break the habit.”

He followed her to the lone restroom, one step up from an outhouse. And not a complete step either, Aubrey thought, waving a hand in front of her face and trying not to gag. “No windows,” she said, almost reconsidering her intention to go inside—until her backside started itching again.

“I’ll be watching the door,” Jack said.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be shutting it.”

“She’s safe, and I’ll keep her that way for as long as it takes to find out who the mole is.”

“I thought you were trying to figure out what she knows about Corona,” Mike Kovaleski, Jack’s handler and best—okay, only—friend said.

“Yeah, but it won’t make any difference.”

“No.” Mike sighed. “I guess she’ll have to go into witness protection.”

“Not my problem.” Although it would be nice to get her off his hands, Jack thought, his eyes on the bathroom door in case she tried to sneak out and slip into the woods behind. Saying she’d leave the door open wasn’t the same thing as saying she wouldn’t go through it.

“She’d probably be safer if you brought her in and we put her in the program now.”

“And that will help me how?”

Silence for a beat. “So you’re keeping her out of protective custody until she gets you off the hook,” Mike said—not a question, a statement, and a deadpan one at that.

Jack knew him well enough to read the disapproval anyway.

“What if they get to her before you can pick her brain?”

“If they get to her,” Jack said, “I won’t be in a position to care anymore.”

More silence from the other end of the phone, Mike taking a moment to digest that. “You don’t have to do it this way, Jack. You could disappear, lay low until this all shakes out.”

“No.”

Aubrey came out of the bathroom just then, entering the little store without so much as sending a look his way. Jack turned to keep the store in his peripheral view without completely facing it. The phone was at the extreme front corner of the overgrown lot, and the only window in the store seemed to have a potato chip rack in front of it. The clerk inside wouldn’t see him unless he came to the door and looked right at him. Unlikely, but Jack wasn’t taking any chances.

“Okay,” Mike said, “I get that somebody screwed with your life. And I get that you need Aubrey Sullivan to find out who’s behind it, and if she goes into protective custody you won’t have access to her because you’re out in the cold right now. But at least get her under cover, Jack. Stash her somewhere—”

“I need her with me,” Jack said, eyes closed, faced screwed into a grimace, the words bursting out of him with the effort it took to admit that.